the scars they leave behind
by no white horse for me
Summary: it seems to happen almost overnight, the deterioration of hermione's mental stability /\ THIS IS NOT H/Hr just friendship!


Maybe it's irony, maybe a sick sense of humor, but Harry dies in his sleep, peacefully, happily.

_Not the way a hero deserves to go._

Ginny sends a Patronus over at 6am the next morning, telling Hermione and Ron the bad news. Hermione screams. Ron stares.

xx

The funeral is a small, sordid affair.

It's warm and beautiful, so unlike British weather, and Ginny stands at the head of the grave with the children gathered around her and tries to be strong, even though she's dying inside.

Hugo and Rose are clutching each other's hands - Hermione's sobbing into Ron and he's just trying to be the man that everyone needs him to be.

He glances up, once, briefly, and swears he sees a lightning bolt flash across the sky before it disappears and the day is light and airy once more. He smiles to himself.

_Hey Harry._

xx

_It's months spent alone, curling into a bed that isn't yours, sobbing into a pillow to muffle your pain. He's not coming back, he's not coming home. _

_Harry watches you and tries to make sure you're not hurting too much - the Horcruxes whisper in your ear, tell you to kill him, make him feel the pain and anguish you feel every time you look at him. _

_Every time you imagine red hair and freckles and a bright smile. _

_Imagine the look of complete disgust marring his beautiful face._

xx

Hermione wakes up screaming every night for a week.

xx

It seems to happen almost overnight, the deterioration of Hermione's mental stability.

She wakes up at 6am one morning, gets up, opens the window and climbs onto the roof, her wand clenched in her teeth. After 10 minutes, she gets down and goes into the kitchen, where she starts throwing things against the wall.

Plates, bowls, saucepans, jars, knives, forks, mugs,

_just to try and feel something. _

Ron comes racing in - Hugo and Rose are at Hogwarts (7th year, 6th year, something like that) and he holds her kicking and screaming in his arms.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!" He thunders, shaking her violently.

She cocks her head at him, her eyes showing confusion. "I was cleaning." She answers simply.

xx

Three months later and Hermione is locked up in St. Mungo's, Healers poking her, jabbing her with needles, trying to figure out where the heroine of the story went wrong.

Ron's asked questions, questions, questions, and his answer is the same.

"One minute she was there, the next she was gone."

xx

The doctors are mean and scary, and there are two nice people in the room near hers who seem to understand. The woman keeps mumbling about a son, and the man doesn't say anything.

There's a man who visits every once in a while - she might be their son - and every time he sees her, his face falls, and he shuts the curtain, as though the sight of her disgusts him. Or scares him.

Whenever he leaves, the woman mumbles a name over and over again, turning a candy wrapper in her hand.

_Neville, Neville, Neville, Neville._

xx

She dies peacefully in her sleep, a smile on her face.

It seems almost funny that she died that way, and the boy with the jet black hair and the jade green eyes and the lightning bolt on his face that haunts her dreams died that way too.

She's 45 when she dies, and she can't remember her own name.

She murmurs goodbye into a quiet room, her hands slowly releasing the clutches she has on the blanket, and as her eyelids flutter closed, the green-eyed boy swims in her vision.

And there are others, when she opens her eyes.

One with black hair and glasses, the woman with red hair and jade eyes.

There are two men with smiles on their faces, both lanky and tall.

There's a woman with purple hair and a bright grin.

A man with a sallow face and thin, greasy black hair, who moves with the way of a broken man.

An old man with a long, silver beard and playful blue eyes.

A young boy with bright red hair and freckles and laughter permanently etched on his face.

The young boy with the black hair and the scar whispers to her,

_Welcome home Hermione. I've missed you._

**a/n: omg you guys its been like 6 months since i last posted! ive missed you all sooooooooo much! Ive been rather busy with life, so that should explain my absence. this was written in about ten minutes, so it sucks :/ either way, drop me a review! it probably makes about as much sense as a talking tree, too!  
love, elyse xxxxx**


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